


Consort

by Rubylove



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BUT WE HAVE NOT, M/M, Oberon!Derek, Puck!Stiles, Show may have forgotten that Dean was once kidnapped to Faerie, yeah this is basically crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubylove/pseuds/Rubylove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek isn’t really into fairy maidens, Stiles doesn’t really have a problem with that, and Dean did not sign up for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consort

**Author's Note:**

> Daunt made gorgeous art of [Oberon!Derek and Puck!Stiles](http://daunt.tumblr.com/post/69031380632/oberon-derek-and-puck-stiles-for-betp-this-was) and I couldn't not, okay.

Derek isn't pouting. He's not. He's had an off week and it would be fair to say that he is brooding, certainly, but he hasn't pouted since he was a sprite, no matter what Laura says. 

"Derek Oberon Hale, I am _done_ dealing with you today. The feast is in an hour. You will be there, you will be dressed, and you will greet your subjects with appropriate dignity or _so help me_ I will make you wish you were mortal." 

"Understood," he snaps. 

Laura arches a perfect eyebrow at him and sweeps out of his quarters, closing the door gently to show that she's still in complete control. 

As soon as she's gone, Derek lets out a huff that's almost a growl and collapses backward onto his bed. 

"Such a fuss over a feast." The voice startles him upright again, twisting toward the open window where a familiar figure perches. "Wearing fine clothes, having maidens competing for your attention. You are truly to be _pitied_." 

"Shut up," Derek growls. "I don't need this right now." 

"Of course you do." Stiles grins. "That's why the venerable office of the Puck was instituted, isn't it? To tell you when you're full of shit." He hops down off the windowsill, his crown of wildflowers falling slightly askew. "And you, Lord Oberon, are full of shit." 

"Don't call me Lord." Derek pushes up off the bed. "You've never had to follow protocol in your life. You can't even guess the hell I'm in for." 

"No, but I've also never seen you this pissed about a feast in your life. Forgive me for thinking something's off," Stiles replies blithely, not sounding sorry in the least. 

"Laura's decided I need a consort," Derek says, then takes a moment to curse the way Stiles seems to make him speak without thinking. It's the Puck's job to bring out truth. It's also really fucking inconvenient sometimes. 

"And this is a problem because...?" Stiles looks smug, like he knows something Derek doesn't, which doesn't even make sense because Derek hasn't told him anything, still hasn't told him that- 

"I don't want a maiden for a consort," he grits out. Fuck. It's like honesty is being drawn out of him by the Puck's very presence. As with so many conversations with Stiles, Derek resigns himself to utter humiliation. It's never seemed to affect the Puck's opinion of his Lord, so Derek's going to hope that this time will follow pattern. 

"You don't want a _maiden_ for a consort." Stiles' eyes are sparkling, bright with mirth and secret knowledge, and Derek steels himself. "But that doesn't mean you don't want a consort at all." 

"No," Derek admits. Stiles is going to make him say it. 

"So then, my Lord, what could you possibly want in a consort?" Derek keeps his mouth shut desperately, trying against hope to keep himself from letting this truth out. "One of the gentlemen-at-court, or maybe your sister's advisor?" 

Derek breaks. " _You_ , you idiot." 

For the first time in his life, Derek sees Stiles at a loss. 

It only lasts a split second, though, before Stiles lunges forward and kisses him. 

A few moments later, Derek has Stiles pinned on the bed, kissing his way down Stiles' bare chest, when the door opens after the most perfunctory of knocks. 

" _Oh_ ," says Laura weakly, and shuts the door again. 

Stiles bursts out laughing, and Derek drops his head onto Stiles' chest with a groan.

 

~*~ 

 

"Derek, he's the _Puck_." Laura's pacing, skirts swirling dizzily as she passes to and fro. 

"And I _love him_." Derek is trying to be patient. Stiles had to go dress for the feast and Derek himself is only half-dressed, and he does not understand what the problem is here. 

"But can you trust him?" She stops abruptly in front of him, arms crossed. "Can he trust _you_? You're his _Lord_ , Derek. Do you understand what that means?" 

"It means I have a responsibility to Faerie, and he has a responsibility to me. I still don't see the problem."

 Laura throws up her hands. "If the problem is maidens, we can work around that, but I can't endorse this relationship, Derek." 

"Not my problem," says Derek. "If you'll excuse me, _my Lady_ , I need to finish dressing." 

Laura looks deeply unhappy, but leaves.

 

~*~ 

 

The feast is somewhat awkward, as Laura has to make the announcement that Derek will not, in fact, be choosing one of the maidens in attendance for his consort, as his favour does not trend in the direction of maidens. It's still better than having to pretend to be interested in dancing with guests who, despite being very beautiful and probably interesting people by and large, could never capture his desires. 

Overall, things go all right. So it's a surprise when, later that evening, as he's chilling in the mostly-empty throne room waiting until he can reasonably grab Stiles and leave, a couple of the errand-fairies show up with a struggling mortal in tow. 

"Lord Oberon," one of them says, bowing low, "as we have now been made aware of your preferences, we hoped you would accept this gift as a token of our loyalty and the esteem in which we hold Your Lordship." 

"What," says Derek. The mortal's hands are pinned behind him and one of the fairies forces him to his knees. It's the least submissive version of the posture Derek has ever seen. 

The mortal is gorgeous enough that he could actually pass for Fae, with fair skin, well-defined bone structure and green eyes wide with rage. His guards have closed his mouth, but his jaw is working like he has some choice words for his captors. 

"Really, you didn't have to..." Derek cuts himself off, totally at a loss. 

"Does he not please you, my Lord?" asks one of the fairies anxiously. Derek recognises him as Isaac, a friend of Derek's cousin Scott. 

Derek sighs instead of answering. "Loose his tongue," he says. "Let him speak." 

Cautiously, Isaac does as he's told, glancing warily at his two comrades as he does. 

"Mother _fucker_ ," is the first thing out of the mortal's mouth. "Who do you think you are, huh? You think you can just go around abducting people and shutting them up and dragging them to freaking _fairyland_? And who the hell are you?" he demands of Derek. 

"I am Lord Oberon of Faerie," Derek responds smoothly. 

"Of course you are." The mortal rolls his eyes. "And what, am I your prisoner now? You gonna keep me here for a couple hundred years just for shits and giggles, is that it?" Despite his bravado, Derek perceives fear in the mortal's demeanour. 

Isaac cuffs the mortal on the back of the head. "You have been brought here to service Lord Oberon, mortal. Be honoured." 

"Service- you know what? No. Fuck this. I refuse." Before Derek can intervene, the mortal starts struggling again. "I have TEETH, you prissy bastard," he bellows at Derek, and snaps them in demonstration. 

Derek puts a hand over his face, just for a second, just to collect himself. Then he stands. "Isaac, thank you." He wracks his brain for the names of the other errand-fairies. "Erica. Boyd. Thank you. I appreciate the, uh. Gesture. You can leave him to me." 

The three of them bow, release the mortal and exit the throne room. There are maybe two or three other people in the room, staring, courtiers Derek recognises as friends of his sister and his uncle.

 "Leave us," he commands, and they do. The mortal struggles to his feet and stands there in the middle of the floor, hands still bound, feet planted aggressively. Derek sighs and descends from the dais. On a level with him, he finds that the mortal is actually slightly taller than Derek is. Hopefully this will make him feel less threatened. 

He stops several feet away. The mortal glares at him balefully. 

"If I release you, will you attempt violence?" Derek asks. 

"Only if you don't send me home," the mortal shoots back. 

"I will, if you can show a moment's patience." The mortal glares, clearly distrusting. Derek waits. After a moment, he nods grudgingly, and Derek looses his bonds with a gesture. The mortal immediately begins to rub at his wrists, but makes no other movement. Derek is relieved. 

"What is your name?" Derek asks. 

"Oh, no," says the mortal. "I'm not giving you my true name so you can control me." 

Derek blinks. "Uh. That's not quite how it works. Look, I'll give you mine, it's actually Derek. Oberon's my middle name, after my father." 

The mortal looks at him suspiciously. "Oberon was your father." 

"Yeah. Former Lord of Faerie, consort of Titania. Which is my sister Laura's middle name, coincidentally; she's Queen now." 

"I thought fairies didn't die." 

"We don't, but we can retire." Derek shrugs. "You don't have to tell me your name; it would just make things easier." 

The mortal bristles all over again. "Yeah, about that. I still won't-" 

Derek holds up a hand. "You don't have to. I'm sorry, it was a misunderstanding. My court just found out I'm not inclined toward maidens, and my sister doesn't approve of my choice of consort." 

The mortal's eyebrows are somewhere near his hairline. "So someone thought _I_ was a better choice?" 

Derek has to laugh. "No, I think you were supposed to be a stopgap." The mortal looks outraged. "Hey, I'm sure you're fantastic," says Derek, attempting to placate him, "but it's a crime to take a mortal as a consort. It screws with succession in a major way. You understand." 

He looks mollified. "Fine, all right. Dean Winchester," he tacks on, and it takes Derek a second. 

"Oh. Dean." He nods gravely. "It really does help, you know; I can return you to the correct day now that I know who you are." 

"What would have happened if I had refused?" Dean asks, curiosity visibly getting the better of him. 

"Best guess could put you a couple of years out at most," Derek says, "but it seems like that's a big deal for mortals? So we don't like to do that. But a lot of the time they play coy, so we can't help it. We do our best." Derek shrugs. 

Dean nods slowly, absorbing this. "Wow. That is way more than I ever wanted to know about something I didn't even believe in until today." 

"You're taking this pretty well, for a non-believer," Derek observes. 

It's Dean's turn to shrug. "Yeah, well, let's just say I've got a lot of experience with taking the unexpected in stride. Speaking of," he says, glancing around, "good luck with your, uh, choice of consort. I'm sure your sister'll come around." 

"I hope so. I'm not changing my mind." There's a moment of quiet that rapidly becomes uncomfortable. Derek coughs. "Uh, let me send you home. I'm sure you had things to do." 

"You got that right."

 Derek raises his right hand, palm outward, and pauses. "May I touch you? I need to-" 

Dean interrupts. "Whatever, just so I get home."

 Derek nods, then places his hand on Dean's forehead and focuses. Location, date, there it is. The exact time is always dicey, but the veil is temperamental and the transfer is never exact. He does the best he can. 

"Farewell, Dean," he says, and sends. 

Then he's alone in an empty throne room wondering who in the hell thought it would be a good idea to kidnap a mortal for Derek. No way was it Isaac's own idea. Or Erica's, or Boyd's. Actually, the whole thing sort of bore the signature of- 

"Uncle Peter," he says wearily. "What are you trying to pull." 

Peter steps out from behind Laura's throne wearing a broad smirk. "My dear nephew, I don't have the slightest idea what you mean." 

"Right. Okay. Well, tell Laura that I don't care what she thinks, I'm taking Stiles as my consort and she's just going to have to live with it." 

"I am of course your dutiful personal messenger." 

"Shove it. I'm going to find Stiles." 

Find Stiles he does, and the rest of the night is much more enjoyable.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted to Tumblr under the URL [but-red-means-stop](http://but-red-means-stop.tumblr.com/). Come say hi if you want. :)


End file.
